laugh
or cry. As he stretched the black form out on the snow and ran his hands
through the wonderful soft black fur and admired the great tail with its
tip of snowy white he had for the moment almost a feeling of regret that
he had been the means of destroying so beautiful a creature. Then the
true significance of his achievement, luck he called it, swept over him
and his eyes shone as he pictured his reception at the cabin.

In the midst of his triumphant thoughts a guttural voice broke in:
"White boy heap good shot."

Sparrer whirled to find himself staring into a dark coppery countenance
with beady eyes, low brow and high cheek bones. It was an Indian.

CHAPTER XV

SPARRER'S TEMPTATION

"White boy heap good shot," repeated the Indian with what was intended
to be a friendly grin.

He was standing some twenty paces away, and where he had come from
Sparrer hadn't the least idea. If he had sprung out of the snow at his
feet the boy would have been no more startled and surprised. He was
short, thick-set, and was dressed in a nondescript pair of trousers much
the worse for wear, a faded mackinaw spotted with grease and dirt and
was, of course, on snow-shoes. The swarthy evil face was crowned with a
cap of unplucked muskrat fur. Save for a light axe carried in one hand
and a knife in his belt he apparently was unarmed, a fact which Sparrer
noted at once with a feeling of relief.

"Black fox no good. Kill rabbits and birds. Good to kill fox. What white
boy do with him?" continued his unwelcome visitor.

"Take his skin," replied Sparrer for want of anything better to say.

"Skin no good. Red fox skin good. Black fox no good--bad fur. No can
sell. White boy take rabbit and give Indian fox." This astounding
proposal was accompanied with what was intended for an ingratiating
smile, but which served only to make the face still more ugly.

"He's wised me fer a tenderfoot, an' thinks Oi'm easy," thought Sparrer.
Aloud he said, "What do youse want of it, if it's no good and youse
can't sell it?"

Once more the dark face broke into a grin. "No sell. Make cap to wear."
He touched his head to make clearer his meaning. "Indian like black
cap," he added guilelessly.

Sparrer laughed aloud at the childish simplicity of the idea. Then he
shook his head. "Nothin' doing," he replied. "Oi want the fox meself."

A look of cunning swept across the dark visage. "Indian buy fox. Give
two dollar," was the next bland propos